Part 5: Finding Your Own Artistic Language
1 — If I can't draw or take photos, can I still make art?
My answer is: of course you can.
Art is not equal to painting or photography — its forms can be incredibly free. If you look at the departments offered at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, you can immediately feel that diversity:
Architecture, Interior Architecture, Designed Objects
Art & Technology
Sound
Art Education
Art History, Theory & Criticism
Art Therapy & Counseling
Arts Administration & Policy
Ceramics
Contemporary Practices
Fashion Design
Fiber & Material Studies
Film, Video, New Media & Animation
Historic Preservation
Liberal Arts
Painting
Performance
Photography
Printmedia
Sculpture
Visual & Critical Studies
Visual Communication Design
Writing
See? Art stretches across so many fields. Interdisciplinary practice and drawing inspiration from multiple media is not only allowed — it’s encouraged.
Of course, I also have my own bias. As someone trained in an art school, I naturally value concept, thinking, and interdisciplinary blending. Meanwhile, ateliers in Florence or elsewhere often emphasize rigorous drawing and painting foundations.
There is no right or wrong path. What matters is: What do you truly want to express?
So back to the question: If you don’t draw or take photos, can you still be an artist?
Yes.
If you can speak with your own voice — whether through writing, coding, materials, metal, fibers — you are already making art.
What makes something “art” is the artist’s thinking and perception. That is the most unique, irreplaceable part.
2 — How do you transform your tech/finance experience into an artistic language?
For me, this transformation happens in a few ways.
One way is more direct: I know friends who create using code, AI, or algorithms — processing images through programs, or constructing immersive worlds in Unity. That’s a very intuitive fusion of art and technology, and it’s great.
But for me, the transformation is more subtle. My experience in tech and finance influences why I make something, how I make it, how to structure a project efficiently, how to allocate resources wisely, and how to make a concept sustainable. In this sense, tech gives me the scaffolding that supports my creative practice.
At the moment, I don’t directly draw artistic language from technology, but I remain open. Including toward AI — I don’t believe AI will replace artists, but it can certainly be used by us, just like a brush, a 3D printer, or a mold.
3 — How do you differentiate “imitation” from “expression”?
First of all, I think imitation is incredibly important. To be blunt, I don’t believe innovation comes out of nowhere. Most innovation builds on what came before.
That’s why art history is essential.
We need to know how people in the past worked and thought. For example, using the body, hair, hands, feet to paint — that appeared in the Japanese Gutai movement in the 1960s. Or metallic, collective, futuristic aesthetics — these were explored by Futurists before and after World War I. So today, as technology evolves, can we respond to that once-imagined technological future?
Understanding “what already exists outside you” is the first step toward developing new expression. Only when we combine this with our current lived experiences and environment can we form our own voice.
For instance, robotic arms didn’t exist decades ago, and smartphones are unique to our era. I love Baudelaire’s idea that beauty is part eternal essence and part fleeting moment. We seek beauty — but when we embed our contemporary experience (political, social, technological), we create something uniquely ours.
4 — In your creative practice, what do you value more: concept, visual impact, or emotion?
To me, concept, visuals, and emotion are like three legs of a tripod — they support each other and all are indispensable.
If a work has only concept but no visual force or emotional resonance, it feels incomplete — that kind of expression might work better as writing. But if a work is visually beautiful yet lacks depth or emotional weight, it is empty.
So all three matter. But if I must choose, I personally prioritize concept. This is related to my background and training. I believe art needs a spiritual or intellectual core, and concept is the framework that carries that core. It guides me toward the right form of expression.
5 — What does “uniqueness” mean to you?
Uniqueness and differentiation — the startup world constantly talks about identifying a product’s position and differentiation. Honestly, this framework applies to art too. Let’s temporarily think of an artwork as a “product” — then yes, it needs something that sets it apart.
This differentiation may come from form, from how a work interacts with the exhibition space, from the artist’s background, or from deeper layers such as materials, process, thinking, era, geography, and the specific site where the work is displayed.
Uniqueness is not only what you see in the final piece — it is everything behind and around it.
If you think through these layers before creating, the work will naturally be unique.
6 — Is there a theme you find yourself returning to again and again? Why?
Yes — there is a theme that has followed me for years, like an invisible thread. When you look back at 5 or 10 years of work, you suddenly realize: I have always been drawn to this theme.
In 2023, I conducted interviews with Chinese immigrant women aged 24–32 about why they did not want to become mothers, and from that created an artist’s book titled “Hesitation to Motherhood” I had just gotten married at the time, and my parents had begun bringing up childbirth, so motherhood and marriage became central topics in my mind.
I was deeply unsure — even afraid — of the idea of becoming a mother. I read Orna Donath’s Regretting Motherhood, a five-year sociological study across three generations. She asks: If you could return to the past with current knowledge, would you still choose motherhood? Many women said no. I was shaken — at 25, I was terrified of motherhood. My mother had me in her twenties and believed early childbirth was good, but I was filled with uncertainty.
That project lasted about half a year to a year. After finishing it, I put it down.
But years later, now that I work in children’s art education, meet many mothers and kids, and have grown older, I realize I am no longer afraid. I even feel more courage and strength around the topic.
Recently I’ve been thinking: If I revisit this theme, what conversations would I want to have with my friends today? These shifts are things I couldn’t have predicted. Back then, I was convinced I was someone who did not want to become a mother.
So I believe the best thing we can do is stay open, and at each stage make work that is true to what we think and feel in that moment.